


It's Not Me (It's Just My OCD)

by orphan_account



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Charles is understanding, Erik is forthright, Gen, Inaccurate OCD, Inspired by that video I saw, OCD, Physical contact is out of question
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:57:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is sitting at the cafe, minding his own business when a stranger comes up to him and asks him out for dinner. Eight times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Me (It's Just My OCD)

**Author's Note:**

> A little ficlet of that video I saw some time ago, where the man asked his wife out about six times the first time he saw her. Button poetry. Video is [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vnKZ4pdSU-s).
> 
> My portrayal of Erik is likely inaccurate given the circumstances, but I will try to keep it as canon as I can manage. Please forgive me for inaccuracies, and do not take offense. 
> 
> Beta-ed by Mon and Kage, thank you very much for the comments and inputs!

“I don’t think you understand,” says the man before him, face stern; voice even more so. “I’d like to take you out for dinner. Have dinner with me?”

It’s an unexpected question in an unlikely scenario and Charles only stares up at the man who is a head taller than himself. Charles' own face is void of expression and he wonders if he’d replied something else other than his firm answer of no, the first time round.

“You should at least introduce yourself first, don't you think? I did. It’s only polite you return the favour. I can’t possibly have dinner with a man whose name I don’t even know,” Charles demands, not once removing his gaze from the other even as he begins to garner stares from the people around.

The small café hums with life; its customers made up of an older clientele who are content with keeping to themselves. It doesn’t mean there aren’t any students around, simply that it is a whole lot tamer and quieter, a nice variation from Starbucks where its consumers whiled the afternoon away with loud chatter. It’s distracting, Charles finds. This, this is calming. And Charles has gotten a nice long hour of solitude simply sitting away from the crowd in the far corner, musing, recalling his research and the lecture he is to give tomorrow. All the way until now, that is.

The man is still staring down at him, his body bent towards his, leaning over him just slightly. Charles doesn't shift in his seat, doesn't at all find his presence intimidating, if that is what the man was going for. Intimidating Charles into a date? That’s certainly a first.

Charles hears a sigh, two slow, deep, prolonged exhales, much like the ones he used to do whenever he felt nervous and yet needed to speak. His throat would close up and his heart would climb its way into his mouth. The man looks to be doing some sort of breathing exercise, and Charles, being quite intrigued now, is happy to wait for him to be done with it.

Finally, the man says, “Would you like to have dinner with me?” And then, “Please?”

A different tactic, just a simple rephrasing of words and an added 'please' to hopefully win Charles over. It does not go unappreciated, and Charles lets himself smile at the gesture. Despite that, the smile on Charles’ face is a small one, almost disbelieving but not mocking. He is inclined to have this conversation with this man, to see where it would lead them both. He rearranges himself so that he can properly look up and meet his stranger’s gaze.

“If I say yes, will you tell me your name?”

The man seems to consider, his brows knitting together tightly as his fists clench at his sides, as though ready to strike. But Charles knows better, no one would be stupid enough to come break his nose in broad daylight when surrounded by so many bystanders. And anyways, being rejected is hardly a good enough reason to punch anyone in the face. The consequences of such actions aren't worth it.

“After you’ve said yes,” the man says. German, Charles notes from the accent with its clipped consonants. “Would you like to have dinner with me? I know of a nice Italian restaurant. Barlin Tang’s. It's new. Opened not too long ago. Or if you’d like, I’ll cook dinner. I’m a pretty good cook. I promise I have no intention of kidnapping you. And if I did, I wouldn’t have come over and asked you out for dinner. Instead, I would have simply waited until you exited the café. It’s much easier that way. Simpler, and more convenient for me too. Also, kidnaps are kinda messy. Murders too. Not… that I have any intention of murdering you.” The words are blurted out fast and harsh, as though keeping them in any longer than a second more will cause an implosion within. Then, as if suddenly realizing just how inappropriate he is being, Charles’ stranger clears his throat and finishes his little monologue with, “Come have dinner with me, please.” Charles almost hears a muttered, “I promise I won’t kill you.”

Staring at the man for a long half a minute, Charles notes that his pursuer's chest is rising and falling rapidly, and that he keeps clenching and un-clenching his fists; a nervous habit. He is dressed in a turtleneck, a pair of well fitted pants and a dark green khaki jacket that seems to swallow him whole, leaving him entirely covered except for that of his face. He looks exactly like the sort of suspicious character who has every intention of kidnapping. But Charles is never one to be deterred by such things.

It must come as a surprise to his stubborn pursuer when Charles finally says, “Alright. Let’s have dinner. I enjoy most cuisines but will not be opposed to dining at that Italian restaurant you had in mind. And anyways, I’m craving for creamy carbonara.”

His mysterious stranger’s face brightens up and the broad, eager smile that comes is both bordering on overly creepy and oddly endearing. If Charles is to describe his smile, it will be that it has far too many teeth and stretches across his face much too widely. It reminds him of a shark. A very friendly shark. And a very lost one.

“Now that I’ve agreed,” Charles licks at his lips, “You’ll have to tell me your name.” He waits expectantly.

The man opens his mouth, but what he says isn’t that of his name. Instead —

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Charles frowns, blinks several times in confusion. He has already agreed to it, and surely the man cannot be hard of hearing. He had even smiled back at him. Charles opens his mouth to speak, “Yes, I do. We’ve already settled that.”

He is somewhat taken aback when the reply that comes is the same question, thrice, before he is given a different answer. “It’s Erik Lehnsherr. I’m sorry, sometimes my OCD gets the better of me. But I’m trying, and I just think that you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on. Are… we still heading out to eat?”

Ah, that made sense. Charles has had previous experiences with people who has the same condition Erik has. Actually, Charles has a  _lot_  of experience with obsessive compulsive disorder considering his studies in genetics. He used to study the correlation between one’s genetic coding and that of their mental illnesses. Scientifically speaking, most, if not all of the human population have some sort of anxiety relating to OCD, but some have it worse than others. Some people’s anxieties are more pronounced, more consuming of the mind and thoughts. Erik is one of them.

Charles shifts in his seat. He digs inside his satchel to find his notebook before ripping a single page from the ringed binder. He scribbles his number and his name in nice block letters before getting up and slinging the strap over his shoulder.

“I’ve got to go, but yes, we’re still having dinner. Barlin Tang’s, yes? If my memory serves me right, the dress code goes along the lines of casual but smart.” Charles’ sister, Raven, has had a previous date there as well. The dress she had worn was far too elaborate for the establishment but at least she was happy about it. He is aiming to be careful about forcing Erik into clothing he isn’t too comfortable with and so says, “I’ll wear whatever I think is nice and you wear whatever you feel like wearing that day. I’ll see you… Friday night?” He sticks his hand out, careful that his fingers don't brush against Erik’s lest Erik is uncomfortable with physical contact.

Erik merely nods, taking the paper delicately, as if it might crumble the minute he holds it too hard. Or perhaps he thinks Charles’ notebook is horribly dirty.

“Friday’s good,” Erik comments with a far-off look. His smile has simmered somewhat, but he still looks half dazed and awe-struck.

“Excellent. I’ll see you then.”

Charles sends Erik a smile and receives one in return. By the time he gets out of the café, it is a little past five. Today is a Wednesday, the date will be in two days’ time, leaving him ample time to dig out his nicer 'going out' clothes that hasn’t seen the light of day ever since Charles committed to his bachelorhood. How well that turned out.

Glancing behind him, Erik stands stiffly by the entrance of the café, staring in his direction. Charles gives a little wave and laughs when Erik waves back, equally stiff in his movements, robotic.

The bus comes, Charles mouths a silent, “See you soon,” boards, and leaves. He turns and searches for Erik, watches as Erik looks longingly towards his direction. It would be a lie to say he doesn't feel the least bit excited about their date. His heart beats fast against his ribs, he's a little giddy and his smile hasn’t left him even after the bus has turned round the corner and the sight of both Erik and the café is long gone.

Sitting by the window, Charles looks beyond the glass panes and smiles to himself. Friday is just two days away. Two days, and then he’ll see Erik again. 


End file.
